Diane spooned warm apple-rhubarb pie onto the girl’s plates, topping each with scoops of ice cream. ‘Indeed?’ Gerald grinned. Only au revoir. Why doesn’t she marry? Plenty of money under her father’s will. " "What proof have you that I am?"—was the return bolt. Does it?” “I think it does. ” “Don’t say that,” Sydney begged. ‘Do please continue,’ Gerald begged, deceptively docile. So the talk went on, and presently they were criticising novelists, and certain daring essays of Wilkins got their due share of attention, and then they were discussing the future of the theatre. Free, there is nothing left to her but the canal.
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